


we know it all by heart

by casfallsinlove



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, mild panic attack, not john winchester friendly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-21
Updated: 2014-04-21
Packaged: 2018-01-20 07:41:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1502234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/casfallsinlove/pseuds/casfallsinlove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“We could run away,” Cas says suddenly, surely, and his finger hooks into the hem of Dean’s shirt. “I’d come with you. Anywhere, Dean.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	we know it all by heart

**Author's Note:**

> there are mentions of abuse in this fic but nothing is explicit or graphic and it's all off-screen. also dean has a brief panic attack. 
> 
> tbh this is sort-of-but-not-really a warm up for my dcbb, which has a similar premise.
> 
> enjoy!

Dean stands in the Shurley’s backyard and stares up at the huge oak tree, the moonlight filtering through the leaves. He’s not scaled this tree for a coupla years, and back then he was sixteen, smaller and slighter. Now he’s finally bulked out a bit and shot up those three extra inches and the tree limbs are not looking so sturdy anymore.

He glances up at Cas’s balcony on the second story and then again at the tree. He could probably still do it. At least the gap between balcony and branch doesn’t seem so big now. Rubbing his hands together, and mindful of his bleeding knuckles, Dean grips onto one of the lower branches and hauls himself up.

He’s pretty surprised at how quickly he makes it onto the limb that extends towards Cas’s room and it only creaks and sways _slightly_ under his weight as he shimmies along it and lands, soft-footed as a cat, on the tiny balcony.

The door is locked but the window isn’t, hasn’t been since they were eight years old and Dean did this for the first time, and Dean slides it up easily enough and gracelessly tumbles into Cas’s room, tripping over a pile of college brochures and what feels like a week’s worth of laundry.

Cas shoots up in bed at the noise and even through the darkness Dean can see that confused squint on his face. “Dean?” he rasps, voice sleep-thickened. “What on earth are you doing?”

Now that he’s actually here, Dean’s realising what a dumb idea this was. He’s _eighteen_ , he shouldn’t run away every time shit happens, and he definitely shouldn’t run to his best friend’s house at two in the goddamn morning.

He opens his mouth, apologies and excuses on the tip of his tongue, but then Cas flicks a lamp on and blinks at him, and Dean watches his gaze land on what’s sure to be a swollen lip (if the throbbing he’s been trying to ignore is anything to go by) and then on his right hand.

“Oh, Dean,” Cas says softly, and he’s out of bed in an instant. Dean wants to say something about the dinosaur-print pajama bottoms he’s wearing and how freaking nerdy they are, but when confronted by the sympathetic gaze of his best friend, he just sort of crumples instead.

“I didn’t know where else to go,” he offers feebly, but the truth is there was nowhere else he wanted to be.

“Hush,” Cas says, taking his wrist gently and pulling him into his adjoining bathroom, and never has Dean been more grateful that Cas’s dad is a best-selling author who owns this big-ass mansion of a house.

In the harsh, bright light of the bathroom, Dean’s injuries look even worse when he catches sight of himself in the mirror. His jaw is purpling and there’s blood smeared across his chin and on his shirt from his split lip. This certainly isn’t the first time Cas has seen him like this, and it’s not the worst either, but still Dean flushes with embarrassment when Cas takes the first aid kit out from under the sink.

“Dude, you don’t have to—” he starts, but quiets when Cas glares at him, somehow menacing even in rumpled dinosaur PJs with sleep-crusted eyes and flyaway hair.

“Do you want me to wake Mom?” Cas asks gently, checking the directions on the back of a bottle of antiseptic spray. “She’s better at this than me.”

Naomi Shurley sort of scares the crap out of Dean; she loves her son and her husband, and arguably even her son’s best friend, dearly, but she’s strict and firm and while she’s patched Dean up with a steady hand and kind words several times over the years, Dean’s not sure if he’s in the mood for the inevitable ‘you should report him’ lecture right now.

“Nah,” he says. “You’re fine.”

Cas nods, not looking altogether convinced, and takes Dean’s bruised hand carefully in his own. “Did you—?” he begins, then trails off and looks at Dean worriedly.

“Hit him back?” Dean finishes, and smiles bitterly. “You think I’d still be standing here if I had? It was the doorframe that took a beating, not my dad.”

Cas doesn’t say anything, which Dean is grateful for. They stand in silence for a few minutes while he dabs antiseptic on Dean’s knuckles, broken only by the occasional hiss of pain and answering whispered apology.

It isn’t until Cas runs a washcloth under the tap and wipes at the blood on Dean’s face that he finally says, “I’m sorry this happened to you.”

Dean’s jaw clenches, because yeah, he’s sorry too. Cas is standing in front of him, so close that their chests are practically pressed together, and he’s looking at Dean like he would do anything in the world to make him feel better if Dean just told him how.

“S’okay,” Dean mumbles, because he doesn’t know what to do when Cas looks at him like that. “It was my fault, anyway.”

Cas frowns deeply, obviously wanting to refute this statement, but then asks, “What makes you say that?”

Humorlessly, Dean snorts. “He found my college applications. I shoulda hidden ‘em better.”

Cas’s fist clenches so hard around the washcloth that a dribble of water trickles to the floor. “You shouldn’t have to hide them at all,” he grits out, but Dean’s not having this argument again. So what, his dad doesn’t want him to go to college? Dean’s still going, even if it means applying in secret. Cas’s dad helped him with his personal statements and shit, Bobby’s had a college fund for him for years, and Sammy and Cas helped him pick which school would be best for an English degree. He doesn’t need his father’s approval.

“Don’t, Cas,” he pleads, because it’s been a long fucking night and he doesn’t want to fall out on top of everything else.

Cas understands. He knows Dean won’t ever call the cops on his dad because then they’ll take Sam away and anyway, Dean can deal with Dad’s drunken temper and being told he looks too much like his dead mom whenever he walks into a room.

But though he might get it, Cas still looks sad as he runs a thumb lightly over Dean’s bottom lip. “Is Sam okay?” he asks.

“Didn’t even wake up,” Dean replies, and doesn’t try and hide how relieved he is by that. Not that Dad would ever hurt Sam, because it’s him who’s the bad son here, but Sam hates it when they argue and Dean hates it when his little brother gets upset. Part of Dean thinks that the sooner he leaves for college, the better. Bobby’s promised to keep an eye on everything, but with Dean gone Dad won’t have anyone to yell at anyway. Better for everyone.

He doesn’t realise he’s started crying until Cas’s thumb moves up to his cheekbone and swipes at the moisture there, and then he’s being pulled into a hug and Cas never hugs, Dean is the tactile needy one, so he makes the fucking most of it and wraps his arms around Cas’s waist and curls his fingers into his ratty t-shirt and hides his face in the crook of Cas’s neck.

“It’s okay,” Cas is saying, stiff in Dean’s arms but warm and solid and reassuring. “It’s okay, Dean.”

It’s not okay, of course, but Cas’s gruff voice has always been weirdly soothing and Dean sags, boneless, against him. He’s probably getting snot all over Cas’s shoulder, but Cas doesn’t say anything so Dean figures he either hasn’t noticed or doesn’t care.

They stumble their way back into the bedroom, pausing to turn to the bathroom light off because Cas is a freak like Sammy who actually cares about that sort of thing and “do you want to contribute to global warming and be responsible for the deaths of the polar bears, Dean?” and then Cas takes out a pair of pajama bottoms (with stars-and-rockets-and-space print this time) and a t-shirt and shoves them into Dean’s hands.

It’s something they’ve done a hundred times so Dean strips off and changes without hesitation, passing Cas his dirty shirt and throwing his jeans into the corner. When he’s done he climbs under the covers with him, and they don’t _cuddle_ like they used to when they were kids, but Cas pulls Dean close and tugs the duvet over their heads all the same.

“Thanks,” Dean says thickly, and it sounds lame but he doesn’t know how to say it any other way. Cas knows, anyway.

“Do you want any painkillers?” he asks softly, breath puffing against Dean’s cheek.

He shakes his head. “Don’t need ‘em.” And it’s true, because having Cas this warm and near helps more than any pills ever could.

“We could run away,” Cas says suddenly, surely, and his finger hooks into the hem of Dean’s shirt. “I’d come with you. Anywhere, Dean.”

Dean has to swallow hard around the lump in his throat at that. More than anything he wants to say yes. Just steal the Impala, bundle Sam in the back, Cas riding shotgun, and just leave. Drive for days and days until Lawrence is nothing but a distant memory.

But, “We can’t,” he whispers, because Sammy has school and Cas has his parents and they’ve both got to finish senior year if they want to go to college. Cas nods, he knows, knows they can’t, but Dean would bet a hundred bucks that he’d have gone anyway if Dean had said yes. And suddenly, desperately, Dean wants to breathe Cas in, wants to burrow under his clothes, his skin, and stay there, learn every inch of his soul all over again and make him scream, make him smile, make sure he never leaves because Dean without Cas is incomprehensible, terrifying.

He’s panicking, flailing, breathing hard and _fuck_ he’s going to start crying again isn’t he, because what if they don’t both get into Brown like they want to, it’s an Ivy League and Dean’s not cut out for the damn Ivy League, no matter what his teachers say, but then Cas is gathering him up and stroking his hair and goddammit Dean’s never been so pathetic, but he clings and clings and holds on for dear life until he can breathe again and he vaguely registers that Cas is saying something, saying, “ _We adjust to new conditions and discoveries_ ,” which is a quote, Dean’s favourite quote, that Cas has apparently learned off-by-heart.

“ _We are pliable_ ,” he continues, and Dean’s face is somehow pressed sort of uncomfortably against Cas’s collarbone but he listens to every word. “ _Love need not be a command nor faith a dictum. I am my own god. We are here to unlearn the teachings of the church, state, and our educational system. We are here to drink beer. We are here to kill war. We are here to laugh at the odds and live our lives so well that Death will tremble to take us_.”

It’s probably fucked up that having Bukowski recited to him can make Dean feel better, or maybe it’s because Cas said it, and Cas knows the little things about Dean like his favourite quote and how to get him through a panic attack.

Dean thinks he loves Cas, sometimes.

“You’re okay,” Cas tells him, then says it again, and again, until Dean can’t remember why he’s never bothered to kiss Cas before and lifts his head up and does so.

There’s a moment, just a second, where Cas freezes and Dean thinks ‘oh shit, this was a mistake’ but then Cas’s hands come up and cup Dean’s face and he kisses right back.

It’s soft, gentle, nicer than any kiss Dean’s ever had before and that includes Lisa Braeden in tenth grade, who always was far too good for him. Hell, it’s practically fucking chaste, and Dean wonders why they haven’t been doing this the whole time, because it sort of feels like coming home or something.

Cas sucks lightly on Dean’s bottom lip, tongue brushing over the cut there, and then pulls away and kisses his forehead. “Sleep, Dean,” he says, like they haven’t just done something monumentally life-altering.

“Don’t go anywhere,” Dean says.

“I wouldn’t.”

They keep the space between them, don’t tangle up together like Dean half-expects, but Cas pushes his fingers through Dean’s hair and Dean catches hold of Cas’s t-shirt and he falls asleep between one touch of Cas’s lips to his hairline and the next.

-

In the morning, Dean wakes up first. Cas is still unconscious, slack-jawed with his face smushed into his pillow, and Dean skims a finger over the shell of Cas’s ear before he carefully slips out of bed.

He pads downstairs in bare feet and isn’t surprised to find Cas’s dad at the table in the kitchen. Naomi is standing over the stove and neither of them look all that shocked to see Dean either.

“Um, morning,” Dean says, awkwardly because he’s half-scared Cas’s mom will be able to read the evidence of Dean kissing her son all over his face. But then she frowns at him, and Dean remembers his split lip and bruised jaw and realises she’s probably reading something completely different.

“Anything you need, Dean?” Chuck asks, eyebrows pinched in concern.

“No, I’m good thanks,” Dean nods, plucking at his— _Cas’s—_ pajama shirt self-consciously. “I just thought I’d come and get some coffee. If that’s okay.”

Naomi steps towards him and takes his chin in her hand, gently angling it towards the light and then, apparently satisfied with Cas’s nursing, lets him go. “I’ll do you one better,” she says, and gestures to the batter mix on the counter. “Pancakes.”

Cas stumbles in a few minutes later, just as Dean’s drawing smiley faces on the pancakes in syrup, and flops into the chair opposite his father with a yawn. Naomi eyes him critically and says, “You need a haircut, Castiel.”

Dean smirks as Cas rolls his eyes, and Chuck says, “How about I take you boys into town today? Cas, you can get your hair cut and then we’ll go for ice cream or to the movies or something. We’ll pick Sam up on the way.”

They agree, even though Cas complains that they’re too old for ice cream (Dean punches him on the shoulder for that comment, because as far as he’s concerned they will _never_ be too old for ice cream) and then scamper upstairs to get dressed.

Dean is in his jeans and searching through Cas’s closet for a shirt he can borrow that isn’t totally fucking lame (seriously, who still wears _sweater vests_ these days?) when he feels warm lips in between his shoulder blades and then Cas is turning him around and pressing him into the closed door of the closet and kissing the living daylights out of him. It hurts, because of his lip and the fact that he can’t really move his jaw much and the door handle poking the small of his back, but it’s good too, so good, hot and fast and easy.

They break apart, breathless, and Cas smiles and palms the back of Dean’s neck and says, “Do you believe me when I tell you everything is going to be okay?”

And Dean nods and says, “Yeah, Cas, I do,” because he does, dammit, he really does.


End file.
